Work Text:
I hate work Christmas parties
Mycroft was busy with the latest report, occasionally glancing at the time.
Already past ten and very close to eleven, and still no text. With a soft sigh, he pulls the next file closer.
It was around half past eleven when the knock at the door came.
"Come on in..."
The door opened, and Mycroft watched the man walk in, his shoulders relaxed and his walk soft. He closed the door before walking around the table. Mycroft closed the file and shifted in his chair.
"Good evening, Gregory."
"Hello gorgeous. How was the party?"
"You mean the frontlines of the war zone?" Mycroft replied with all seriousness, a small hint of mirth hidden just on the outside of the blue rims of his eyes.
Greg's smile is blinding, and Mycroft can't help but smile back.
"But you still won, didn't you?"
"Let's just say the battle is in my favour."
"Isn't it always, Darling?"
"Indeed." Mycroft responded.
Greg leans in for a closer kiss on the side of Mycroft's lips.
"You taste like chocolate and coffee."
"Yeah. I'm the DCI now. I can't drink with the team like I used to, so I had a drink or two with the younger generation, then coffee and cake like a proper old copper with the older generation."
Mycroft rolled his eyes as he stood up and started to pack up for the night.
"You're not old, Gregory..."
"How would you describe it? Seasoned?"
"Hardly seasoned... perhaps just mature or cultivated... in his prime."
"I'll take prime... reminds me of a good steak; cultivated sounds like yogurt." Greg answered as he opened the door and walked with Mycroft towards the outside, where the car was waiting. Greg eyed the small package in Mycroft's hand but didn't comment.
"As you wish, my Dear." Mycroft replied with amusement.
Inside Mycroft noticed the two bright gift bags and turned to Greg with a look.
"Didn't you say that the secret Santa was one gift only?"
"I did it. This is it." Greg lifted the bright, glittering red bag and pulled out the contents. It was one of those variations on different cream liqueurs. It was an excellent gift—perfect, in fact.
"You put it on your list?" Mycroft asked.
"Yeah. Remember it was this, a winter set, or a voucher?" Greg explained, turning the gift set around. Mycroft remembered. They had a maximum amount they could spend on a gift, and everyone wrote down two or three things they would like to get to make sure the gift was worth it and acceptable. Greg looks back at Mycroft.
"I like it; maybe a bottle in the evening... with some ice... or ice cream." Greg hinted with a wink, his intentions obvious.
Mycroft sighs and rolls his eyes. Greg certainly made life good and interesting. Mycroft constantly finds himself experiencing things and having thoughts he never would have had before. He eyed the box.
"That strawberry will go excellent with the white chocolate mousse you made last weekend."
"Exactly what I was thinking... and this one, almond... maybe with a peach cobbler."
"Oh, yes, or the raspberry tart... what's the other gift?"
"It's a joke, Sally, Dimmock, and a few others decided to reward me for another year of acting as Sherlock's intermediary... Greg answered and picked up the other bag. Inside was a photo frame with a template certificate awarding Greg for being an "executive intermediary' in Sherlock 101 dealing. It came with a huge slab of chocolate and a small keyring.
Mycroft smiled softly.
"Executive," I wonder, what does it make me and John...
"Oh, I did, John is an "important mediator" and you are a "senior executive." Mycroft couldn't hide his amusement, even if he wanted to. Greg took hold of Mycroft's hand. "There was no malice; it wasn't meant as a mean joke, more of a friendly gag. They know my stand on bullying."
"I wasn't worried, Gregory; I know they, along with my brother, came a long way... I am aware of the new, more diplomatic stance between the Yard and Sherlock.
"Good, so... how was your Christmas party?"
"I hate work Christmas parties. Yours is camaraderie and fun; ours is a battle of wits. Every gift, every card, is laced with double meaning, a secret code."
"Really?" Greg asked, squeezing Mycroft's hand.
"A Johnny Walker and a Glenfiddich whisky have different meanings... even cigar types can mean the difference between liaison and treachery."
"Wow, either way, I'll be happy. So, what did you get, and what does it mean?"
Greg asked softly, but more seriously. Mycroft handed him the small box.
Greg opened it and gave a low whistle.
"Is this real gold...?"
"Plated, probably. I didn't check."
"And...the design...?"
"Versace. Medusa resin is costly, but it is not attention-seeking, at least not in these circles."
"Medusa, like the snake-hair lady..."
Mycroft huffed in amusement.
"Yes, it's a stab at both my reputation and, well, my general work requirements." Mycroft would prefer not to be reminded of Mrs. Hudson's "reptile" remark, and Greg is still upset and has a few things to say about it.
"Well, if I were to give you cufflinks with that hidden message in mind, they'd be blue and warm... because that's what I'd want you to know...I find you warm and captivating because of your eyes."
"You love me; you're biased." Mycroft answered but still smiled as he looked at Greg, his eyes soft and his fingers slowly caressing Greg's.
"Of course, I do... and it is entirely objective. It’s just facts. Not. Let’s get home and enjoy our chocolate and liqueurs." Mycroft felt his heart bursting with love, as Greg is so open and honest about it. He is grateful for this man, every single day.
"The dark chocolate and coffee one will go excellently with the tiramisu still in the fridge."
Greg just leans into Mycroft for a soft kiss.
"If you ask nicely, I’ll feed it to you."